


Pragma

by samuelbyrnes



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Near Death Experiences, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-06-20 03:55:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15525522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samuelbyrnes/pseuds/samuelbyrnes
Summary: Daryl isn't sure who his soulmate is; honestly, he wishes he didn't have one with all the shit he's done and gone through, but the little red fox curled around his wrist is evidence that he has someone out there. He'd hated the thing as soon as it manifested on his skin, so sure that he wasn't worthy of being someone's soulmate.Turns out that even he can be wrong every once in a while.





	Pragma

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the very first Desus Challenge from [desussquad](https://desussquad.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr...meaning this wasn't supposed to have a happy ending, but then I never made the deadline, so I was able to change it up a bit. I feel like it bounces around a bit, but that's probably more down to the fact that it was written in fits and starts over the past year and a half, y'know? It also kind of ends on a 'meh' note, but I feel like if I tried to do something else, it would just spiral into madness and it would just never get done.
> 
> So, yeah...enjoy?

Daryl isn't sure who his soulmate is; honestly, he wishes he didn't have one with all the shit he's done and gone through, but the little red fox curled around his wrist is evidence that he has someone out there. He'd hated the thing as soon as it manifested on his skin, so sure that he wasn't worthy of being someone's soulmate.

_Ain't nobody gonna ever wanna be with a Dixon._

He'd tried getting rid of it, but it always came back. His father tried to get rid of it, but it always came back. Merle took an almost obscene amount of pleasure in haggling Daryl over it. 

_"Yeah, my baby brother's got One Foxy Lady out there waitin' fer 'im."_

He'd always let out an ugly laugh after saying it, thinking it some great joke no matter how many times he said it. Daryl figures Merle's doing it to hide the fact that he doesn't have a soulmate, and to maybe try and forget that their parents had been soulmates, but look how that ended up. So, Daryl bites his tongue and forces himself to not react whenever Merle brings it up. When the dead start walking, Daryl almost envies Merle's Blank status and how he doesn't have to worry about anyone but himself. He definitely envies his brother's lack of ability to dream about someone else out there, trying to survive another day in a world gone to hell. 

~~ 

_Exhaustion._

_Weariness._

_..._

_Panic!_

_Terror!_

_Pain!_

_**Pain!**_

Daryl shot up with a shout, panic rolling through him like a tidal wave. He curls in on himself, eyes squeezed shut as he tries to make sense of what he's feeling, what his soulmate is feeling. 

_Resignation._

_Fear._

_Sorrow._

Wrapped up as he was in the negative, it takes him by surprise to feel the sudden rush of relief and gratefulness. He gladly soaks it up, uncurling his body and sighing softly. The rush of emotions aren't a new thing, and neither are the dreams he has, but they still bother him all the same. He rarely ever had to deal with it in Georgia and Daryl's pretty sure it was because they were too far apart to get anything more than strong emotions and fleeting glimpses, which was more than enough to drive him to distraction then. His first true look at his soulmate almost had him turning tail back to Georgia, back to the blissful ignorance of Not Knowing. He fought it for the longest time, letting his shame and anger fuel the resentment he felt for his soulmate, though it never seemed to bother them. If anything, it spurred them on, determined to tear down the walls Daryl had erected, never once faulting Daryl for what he was feeling. Over time, and the farther north they traveled, the connection grew and Daryl eventually let his walls down, though he made sure to appear reluctant to do so. His soulmate knew better, obviously, but he was thankful when they didn't tease him about it. They both knew Daryl clung to the connection like a life source as the months on the road dragged on, needing it to keep him grounded in the here and now rather than drifting off completely. 

A gentle nudge at his mind brought him back from his musings. Daryl blinked and stared at the ceiling before remembering why he was awake in the first place. He was up and halfway out of bed before he realized what he was doing and flopped back with an irritated grumble. He felt amusement from his soulmate, as though they were laughing at him and he grumbled a bit more, embarrassed. 

" _Aw, don't beat yourself up about it. It's sweet._ " 

"Ain't anythin' sweet about me," Daryl grumbles, rubbing his hands over his face. 

" _Sure, and I'm the Easter Bunny._ " 

"Prick." Daryl dropped his hands and stared up at the ceiling, suddenly overcome with the need to see his soulmate, needing to know they were alright. A calm wave washed over Daryl, gently reassuring. 

" _Walker tried to take a chunk out of me, but I'm fine. Leather's gotta be good for something in this heat, right?_ " There was the impression of a kiss on Daryl's forehead. " _I get the feeling we'll see each other very soon. Have patience._ " 

Daryl grumbled a bit more, but relented. Eventually, he was soothed back to sleep by the comforting thoughts his soulmate was sending him. 

~~ 

The day Daryl finally met his soulmate, he damn near shot the guy and left him up a tree. As it was, he managed to knock the guy out with a truck door and the confusing mix of emotions rolling through him went quiet. He rubbed his forehead idly, exactly where the door had hit the guy, staring the unconscious form on the ground before looking at Rick. Rick's looking down at the guy, hands on his hips, and squinting a bit. 

"Should bring him back with us," Rick says with a little frown; "make sure he wasn't hurt too bad." 

"Could jus' leave 'im up a tree," Daryl suggests, not sure he wants to be anywhere near the guy until he figures out what he's feeling. 

Rick looks at him in surprise. "But isn't he...?" 

Daryl shrugs. "Prob'ly; don't care." He resolutely shoves aside the feeling of disappointment and turns away, scowling out at the empty field. "Gonna need a car to get back." 

"I'll go find one," Rick says and claps Daryl on the shoulder before walking off. He pauses and shoots Daryl a look over his shoulder. "Stay here and keep watch." He grins and continues walking, huffing in amusement when he hears Daryl's grumbling. 

~ 

Halfway back to Alexandria, Daryl feels the first stirrings of consciousness from Paul. He glances over at the slumped form, glances at Rick, ponders the merits of just opening the door and shoving Paul out, but decides against it and goes back to staring out at the rapidly changing landscape. He chews on a thumbnail, debating with whether he should let Rick know their guest is awake while ignoring the confusion he feels from Paul. 

"You wouldn't have left him," Rick suddenly says, glancing at Daryl in the rear view mirror. "Least of all up a tree." 

"Woulda," Daryl huffs. 

"Nah." Rick smiles, glancing up at the rear view mirror again. "You're not that kinda person. You an' I both know that." 

There's amusement from Paul now, as if he were agreeing with Rick's statement. Daryl glances at him, glances at Rick, goes back to looking outside, humming softly. The rest of the ride to Alexandria is quiet, only punctuated by Paul trying to get a rise out of Daryl and vice versa, trying to goad the other into action and failing, though it comes close. With it being so dark out, Rick's none the wiser when Daryl's face flushes darkly or the unbidden smiles from Paul. When they finally stop at Denise's, Daryl grabs Paul by his jacket and drags him out of the car, huffing softly when Paul quips, " _Easy with the merchandise._ " 

" _I'll give you merchandise,_ " Daryl grumbles back, looping his arms under Paul's and hoisting him up, Rick taking the younger man's legs and hobbling to Denise's door. It takes several minutes, but Denise eventually opens the door, yawning and rubbing her eyes. Her hand freezes when she sees the trio on her doorstep and she opens her mouth to start asking question when Rick interrupts. 

"Found him, got hit by a door," he says, short and sweet. 

Denise continues staring at them, Tara behind her also staring. Daryl clears his throat and tries to get a better grip on Paul. 

"Y'gonna let us in?" he asks. "He's heavy." 

Denise shakes her head and nods quickly, moving away to let them in. Daryl goes first, ignoring Paul's not-so outraged comments, interrupting the tirade with, " _I'll fuckin' drop you on this floor. Don't think I won't._ " 

" _Rude._ " 

~ 

They've situated Paul in one of the incomplete houses, hands and feet tied together to prevent him escaping, though Daryl's pretty sure it won't take the younger man long to get out; both his restraints and the house. He leaves Paul some water and a cookie, Rick leaving a short note before they both leave him alone. 

" _Don't go causin' trouble, cuz I ain't gonna save yer ass if you do._ " 

" _I just want to see what your set-up is like since you won't tell or show me._ " 

Daryl can sense Paul pouting and snorts. " _Ain't ever seen your set-up, either._ " 

There's a long pause, then, " _Fair enough._ " 

Daryl stares out at the darkened streets, glancing over at Rick briefly. 

"He's not going to cause trouble, is he?" Rick asks, staring out into the dark. 

Daryl shrugs. "Wants to scope the place out," he replies. "Pretty sure it ain't more'n that." 

Rick hums softly, glancing over at Daryl before turning and walking off, presumably back to his place to get some sleep. Daryl watches him go, chewing on his lower lip before he, too, turns and walks off, trying to ignore the sudden bad feeling churning in his gut. 

~ 

Going after Negan had seemed like a good idea at first, but they hadn't known the exact scope of the situation. They assumed it would be easy; in and out, one and done sort of thing. They didn't know how massive it was or how dangerous it was going to be to truly be rid of Negan. 

They didn't realize how much more death and destruction they would witness before it was finally over. 

~ 

" _Twelve days. We'll get you out of there soon. Promise._ " 

Daryl wasn't sure he wanted to believe Paul, not after hearing him repeat the words after telling him how many days it's been. Every time he woke up confused and disoriented, Paul was always there, though it was often hard to hear with Easy Street blaring through his tiny cell. Daryl clung to the moments when it was quiet, however few there were, sinking himself into the soothing presence of his soulmate despite the dangers. 

" _Just a few more days; three, tops._ " 

" _Could'a had me out in three days._ " 

" _Yeah, well, unfortunately, people keep an annoyingly close eye on those of us who's soulmates have been kidnapped by a bat-wielding maniac._ " 

" _Bet they had to tie y'down._ " 

" _I plead the fifth._ " 

~ 

When they finally do get Daryl free, two days ahead of schedule, they also leave behind a few surprises for the Saviors to find, a metaphorical middle finger if you will. They haul ass back to Hilltop, Sasha taking a truck while Daryl takes back his bike with Paul clinging to him from behind. 

" _How'd you manage just the two o' you?_ " 

Daryl's pretty sure he knows the answer, but he asks anyway. Paul's silent for a few miles before he finally answers sheepishly. 

" _They don't know we went to get you, but I'm sure we were suspicious enough that they found out anyway._ " Daryl feels Paul dig his head in his shoulders, fingers clenching tighter around his middle. " _I couldn't wait any longer. Had t'get you out of there._ " 

Daryl hums and says nothing, the ride silent for the rest of the trip. Once at Hilltop, Paul manages to dissuade anyone from asking questions, silently pushing Daryl in the direction of his trailer. He's aware that Maggie will want to know they're back, and with an extra person, but he figures Sasha will tell her, so that at least buys them some time. As he closes the door to the trailer, he's hit with the sudden realization that this is the first time he and Daryl will be alone together since the first time they met. Daryl seems to realize it as well, panic suffusing his side of the bond. Paul turns to him, projecting calm as he shrugs out of his coat and tugs off his hat and gloves. Daryl's panic abates a little in the face of Paul's calm, chewing on a thumbnail, his eyes skittering over the entire area, landing on Paul. Paul gets the feeling he's looking at a trapped animal and gives Daryl a small smile, putting his hands up in a welcoming gesture. 

"My humble abode," he says. "If you want to eat, there's not much, but I might have something in the cupboards." He tilts his head towards the hallway. "Bedroom and bathroom. Both would probably do you a world of good, but I would recommend a shower first." 

"Y'sayin' I smell?" Daryl rasps, frowning. 

"I said nothing of the sort," Paul says with another smile, "but if you want the bed, and maybe my company, the shower should probably be your first destination." 

Daryl grumbles a bit, but pushes past Paul and heads for the bathroom, making sure to shut the door roughly to make a point. Paul full-on grins as he turns toward the bedroom, rummaging around to find Daryl something to wear. 

" _By the way, there's hot water if you want it; soap, too._ " 

He hums softly when all he gets back from Daryl is his usual grumbling. He hears the shower turn on as he pulls out a shirt that he's pretty sure will fit Daryl, though it might be a tight squeeze. Paul hums again as his mind wanders, imagining the possibility of the shirt ripping as soon as Daryl flexes or moves a certain way. Yes, that's a lovely thought... 

He's startled out of those thoughts when he hears something drop and Daryl cursing loudly, pink dusting his cheeks when he realizes he was projecting. He throws the shirt on the bed and goes looking for pants, offering up a silent apology while he looks. Daryl huffs, accepting the apology, and carries on washing himself. He casually, if a little shyly, projects bits of images at Paul while the man's trying to find pants, causing the scout to falter. 

_Hands, holding him down._

_A body, hovering over him._

_Lips, teeth, and tongue; sucking, biting, kissing._

_Slick, wet warmth; clenching and relaxing, driving him wild._

_A moan, so sweet and soft, whispering Paul's name like a prayer._

Paul blinks, feeling heated and uncomfortably tense. He jerks when he hears the water turn off, grabbing the first pair of pants he finds and stands, grabbing the shirt from the bed and making his way to the bathroom. He knocks on the door, waiting for Daryl to open it before thrusting the clothing at the man. Daryl takes the clothes, looking at them curiously. Paul shrugs. 

"They were the biggest clothes I had," he says simply. 

"Thanks," Daryl murmurs and shuts the door. 

Paul smiles and walks into the main room. He can't help but think of all the possibilities and beginnings he and Daryl will get to explore and experience, how much of an asset it could be while outside the communities...how much of a liability it could be. 

"Man, that kinda thinkin' ain't gonna get ya anywhere." 

Paul jumps and spins, smiling a little crookedly at Daryl. 

"You can't exactly blame me for thinking it, though," he says. 

"Don't think about it too hard, then," Daryl shoots back, shrugging. "Ain't like we can help it, neither." 

"Fair enough." Paul dithers for a few seconds, then, "Make yourself comfortable; I'll go grab you something to eat." 

Before Daryl can protest, Paul's out the door. He stares at the closed door for a few minutes before shaking his head with a huff. He looks around the trailer, taking in the small open area with interest. He lets his fingers trail over things he passes, humming softly at each sense memory he gets. 

The books; Paul sitting on his bed or the couch, quietly reading, decompressing after a hard day. 

The couch; Paul sitting slumped, exhaustion and weariness like a cloud around him. 

The table; all the meals and planning that took place on it, a few instances of drunken stupidity and their subsequent hangovers. 

The notebook he snatches his hand away from, not sure he wants to know what memories hide inside. 

The counter gives him pause. He smooths his hands over the cheap linoleum surface, good and bad memories blending together on the stained surface. One particularly deep gouge near the sink causes Daryl to hiss and cringe, pain and panic echoing through him and he can briefly see the blood spilling over the counter and onto the floor. His nose is tickled with the smell of iron, fire, gasoline, and the sweet rotting stench of death. 

He blinks and shakes his head of the memory. Whatever it was, it couldn't have been too bad since Paul's still here, whole and healthy. 

"Whole and healthy is a fairly relative term these days." 

Daryl jumps and turns, scowling. Paul simply hums and walks further into the trailer, putting the tray in his hands down on the table before pulling out a chair and sitting. He appears to completely ignore Daryl as he takes one of the bowls and spoons from the tray and starts eating, grimacing a little for the first few bites. Daryl snorts and wanders over, pulling out another chair and sitting. He grabs the second bowl, making a face when he smells the food inside, but grabs a spoon and digs in; barely chewing before swallowing. 

"The hell's this shit?" he asks after a couple more bites. 

"Your guess is as good as mine," Paul replies, tilting his bowl this way and that, shrugging. "It might be some kind of oatmeal?" He flashes a smile when Daryl snorts. 

They finish their meal in comfortable silence, both of them caught up in their own thoughts. Daryl's idly scraping the bottom of his bowl with his spoon, looking up at Paul when the other man leans forward to put his bowl down before standing and stretching with a sigh. He lets his arms drop, shoulders slumping a bit as he turns to Daryl, head tilted. 

"We should probably get some rest," he says. "You can have the bed; it's a lot more comfortable than the couch." 

"Can take the couch," Daryl says, putting his own bowl down as he stands. "Slept on worse." 

"You just spent the last two weeks lying on concrete," Paul says, frowning and shaking his head when Daryl opens his mouth. "Point proven, I know, but it'd do you a world of good to sleep in an actual bed rather than a lumpy old couch." He brushes past Daryl to flop down on the couch, spreading himself out with a lazy grin. "I mean, unless you want to try and get me off this couch?" 

Daryl's brows scrunch up, frowning deep. Eventually, he sighs deeply and spins, stomping off down the hall, Paul's laughter following him. Paul relaxes and leans forward, removing his shoes and socks. He squawks in surprise when a blanket and pillow land on top of him, brushing them aside and giving Daryl a look. Daryl simply shrugs and turns, silently making his way down the hall to the bedroom. Paul watches him go, shoulders slumping a little when he hears the door shut, shaking out the blanket and fluffing the pillow a bit before making himself comfortable. 

" _Sleep well, Daryl._ " He laughs lightly when he gets the equivalent of a grunt and a shove. " _I'm aware that's redundant and I know we're both in for some rough nights, but the sentiment still stands._ " 

" _Whatever. Go to sleep, asshole._ " 

" _Aye-aye, Mr. Dixon, sir._ " 

He laughs again when Daryl gives him another shove, grumbling quietly. 

~ 

Paul wasn't wrong about both of them having rough nights. 

Unfortunately, once the war with the Saviors happened, rough nights turned out to be the norm. He discovered early on that if they shared a bed, they both slept a lot easier and with less nightmares, but trying to get Daryl to agree with him turned out to be like pulling teeth. They'd had their fair share of fighting about it, often resulting in one or both of them storming off, slamming down walls on their connection despite the pain it caused. It was during one such fight that Daryl took off to Alexandria, to help them rather than staying with Hilltop like he originally planned. 

Daryl got in Paul's face before leaving, growling out, "Stay the fuck away from me; you an' yer coddlin' shit." 

Paul let him go, aware that if he kept pushing, Daryl would probably try to find a permanent block or pack a bag and run off. Regardless of the walls, he let his frustration leak through, lip curling when he gets anger back. 

"Goddamn stubborn bastard," Paul murmurs, allowing the sentiment to float through the connection, huffing when all he gets is a metaphorical cold shoulder. 

"He'll come around," Maggie says, staring at the closed gates with a frown. "Hopefully, sooner rather than later." 

Paul snorts, shaking his head. "In the meantime, he'll act like a temperamental child," he says. 

Maggie bobs her head, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. 

~ 

Days pass and the walls remain up. Sleep becomes elusive, but Paul pushes through it, frowning and shaking his head when Maggie pins him with a half concerned, half annoyed scowl. 

"Not like it's much different than usual," Paul told her when she tried talking to him. "I'm fine." 

He was very much not fine, but he wasn't about to tell her that. He instead buried himself in work, helping out wherever he could, taking as many shifts as he could watching the Saviors he brought back. In a way, he was grateful he was alone in his head. There was no way Daryl would agree with keeping anyone prisoner, least of all a bunch of Saviors, many in which had a hand in torturing the archer. It took a fair bit of willpower to not kill every last one of them, their viciously grinning faces tempting him terribly, but he knew that if he did, there'd be no turning back. 

So, he made a call. 

It wasn't entirely sound and he knew it could easily backfire on him, but he stood his ground. He let people question him, question his motives and sanity. He let them call him all sorts of names, whether in whispers to one another or outright to his face. He bore it all easily enough and took his frustrations to the woods, taking out every walker he comes across, his mind helpfully superimposing the faces of Saviors on them. He knows it's risky, going out with only half his mind engaged and the area most likely being watched, but he figures it's worth it, especially since he can't meditate for shit right now. 

Somehow, his luck holds out and he never runs into any Saviors. 

Daryl's luck, however, eventually runs out. 

When it happens, Paul's laying down cover fire for Maggie. The pain is sudden and jarring and Paul drops at the unexpected feeling. The panicked terror that slams into him when he realizes what's going on leaves him gasping. He spares only a brief glance at Maggie before he runs off in the direction where he last saw Daryl. The walls between their connection are gone, the extra input suddenly in Paul's mind makes his steps falter, elation mixing with fear and sorrow. He feels a gentle brush, almost like a caress, a soft apology following it, as if it's Daryl saying goodbye. 

No. 

Paul rounds a corner, allowing himself a second or two to assess the situation before he barrels forward, tackling the man on top of Daryl. The man's shocked surprise gives Paul more than enough time to roll back to his feet, knife already in hand, bending swiftly to stab the man in the head. He yanks the knife out and lets it drop before turning to Daryl, who had yet to move, blinking up at the sky. Paul kneels next to the other man, pulling off his coat with shaking fingers as he stares at the gaping wound in Daryl's side. 

" _Don't bother. Ain't worth savin'._ " 

"The hell you are," Paul snarls, wadding up his coat and pressing it to the wound, ignoring the violent flinch and hiss of pain. "You're a stubborn son of a bitch. Don't let this be the one time you give up." 

Daryl snorts, rolling his head to look at Paul. " _Ain't givin' up, not really._ " He raises his hand, wobbling it in a vague manner, letting it drop back down. " _Tainted weapons. 'S not something y'can prevent or come back from._ " 

Paul's staring at Daryl with wide eyes before asking softly, "Were you hit?" 

Daryl shrugs, looking back at the sky. " _Dunno. Maybe._ " He lets out a grunt of pain when Paul presses down on the wound in his gut. " _Prob'ly be blood loss 'fore that, though._ " 

"We'll have Carson stitch you up," Paul says, scowling when Daryl rolls his head back to frown at him. "I'll stitch you up if I have to. Damnit, you don't get to die on me like this." 

Daryl's lips quirk into a small smile and Paul can't help but laugh a little wetly at the image that floats through his mind. 

"When you get better," he promises. "So, that means you have to get better, or else." 

Daryl's brows jump, but he nods. " _Can't promise nothin', but I'll try._ " 

Paul bends over Daryl, pressing his lips to Daryl's in a quick peck, winking when he pulls back, grinning when Daryl huffs. 

"Just a little incentive," he teases as he straightens, eyes scanning the area for any hostiles or for anyone they know so he can get Daryl to safety. 

~ 

In the end, Daryl wasn't infected by tainted bullets or blades, much to everyone's relief. There had been a scare early on when he came down with a fever, quickly slipping into a delirious state that lasted for almost a week when the fever finally broke and Daryl fell into an exhausted, but restful sleep. Paul had been by his side the whole time, unable to focus for any length of time, not with Daryl's fever dreams and confused, muddled emotions practically overwhelming him. He did what he could to ease Daryl's mind, but whatever progress he made would eventually get lost in the fever and he'd have to start over again. When Daryl's fever finally broke, Paul quickly followed the archer into an exhausted slumber, head pillowed next to his hip, fingers gripping tight to his hand. 

The next thing he became aware of was fingers gently petting his head and a gently humming presence in his head. He hummed softly, slowly blinking his eyes open, letting a smile stretch his lips when his eyes met Daryl's. 

"Morning," Paul murmurs. 

Daryl gently tugs at Paul's hair before letting it go. "Pretty sure it ain't mornin'," he says. 

Paul shrugs and sits up, stretching his neck and back. "Sentiment's still the same," he says, looking Daryl up and down. "How are you feeling?" 

"Been better," Daryl replies, fingers fussing with the hem of the sheet over him. 

Paul blinks at the sudden change in attitude, reaching out to place his hand over Daryl's, squeezing when Daryl huffs. He tilts his head when he catches a stray thought, brows furrowing. 

"I could say that I accept your apology," he says, "but I'm honestly angry as hell with you and it's going to take more than a single apology to make up for it." He tightens his fingers when Daryl tries pulling away, frowning when he tries to close himself off. "Pulling away isn't the answer, Daryl. You should know that by now." 

"Did jus' fine b'fore," Daryl grumbles, scowling down at their hands. 

"Really?" Paul raises a brow, challenging. "So, how many hours of sleep did you get when you were in Alexandria? How many hours were instead used to stare up at your ceiling, or to wander the streets?" 

"How many did you?" Daryl deflects. 

"I didn't, and far too many," Paul replies easily with a sharp grin. "Last night was the best sleep I've had since your stubborn ass ran off and I don't doubt it was the same for you." 

Daryl rolled his eyes, slouching back in the bed, lips set in a mulish moue. Paul hums softly, patting Daryl's hands before letting them go. He stands and stretches, grunting when his back pops in several places. He relaxes and looks at Daryl, tilting his head. 

"I'll go get Carson, then bring back something to eat," he says before turning and leaving the trailer, adding idly, " _Try to get out of that bed and I won't be the only one to make you regret it._ " 

~ 

Four weeks. 

That's how long Carson told Daryl to take it easy. 

"Guy's gotta be batshit," Daryl grumbles. "Ain't no way I'm sittin' still that long." 

"You will if you want to heal," Paul says, gently but forcibly helping Daryl into bed. "No one's asking you to sit still, either. There's plenty to do that's not going to set back your healing." 

"Yeah?" Daryl quirks a brow, not-so subtly trying to kick Paul's shin, scowling when he misses. "Like what?" 

"There's a lot of domestic-style jobs you could probably do, like laundry or some light cleaning." Paul grins when Daryl glowers at him. "I guess you could do gate watch if you promise to be good." 

"Fuck off." 

Paul gets Daryl settled comfortably in the bed, disappearing briefly and coming back with a small stack of books and his notebook. He sets them on the nightstand before sitting on the bed, deftly removing his boots and swings his feet up on the bed. He wiggles around a bit, laughing lightly when Daryl gives him a nudge when the archer thinks he'd been squirming around too much. Eventually, he settles and grabs the pile of books, picking one and putting the others between them, giving Daryl a pointed look when Daryl simply stares at the pile. Daryl grunts and rolls his eyes, but he picks through the pile and selects one, nudging the pile back to Paul, who puts them on his nightstand. 

They spend the next hour or so reading in companionable silence. Paul's not sure who started it, but they both end up slouching toward each other, shoulders bumping. He only realizes it when he shifts and his body protests, so he straightens and scoots over so they're pressed together. 

" _Much better._ " 

Daryl huffs, but does nothing. Another hour passes before Paul realizes Daryl had fallen asleep, startling only a little when the archer's head bumps against his. Carefully, so as not to wake him, Paul closes his book and puts it on his nightstand, doing the same to Daryl's soon after. When Paul shifts to move Daryl, the other man grunts, blinking blearily, thoughts muzzy. Paul huffs a laugh when all he seems to get from Daryl is a bunch of question marks. 

"Just trying to get you more comfortable," Paul murmurs. 

Daryl grunts and tries helping Paul with little success. He grumbles sleepily at the fond amusement coming from Paul as the man gets him horizontal and under the covers. He turns to his uninjured side and buries his face in a pillow, easily and quickly falling back to sleep. Paul gets under the covers as well, reaching out to grasp Daryl's hand, allowing the easy flow of their connection to soothe him into sleep. 

~ 

It's not easy going forward. 

Things have settled with the war won, the Saviors either dead or on their side, and Negan locked up in a tiny cell in Alexandria, but it's an adjustment. The clean up and rebuilding process takes up most of everyone's time and effort, leaving little for anything else. Paul usually splits his time between helping out where he could and making sure Daryl doesn't bust his stitches or fuck up his ankle more. The former's much easier than the latter, given Daryl's stubborn streak and temper, so Paul leaves him be most days. The day Daryl twists his ankle the wrong way doing something he shouldn't, Paul takes off with the trade group heading for the Kingdom, frustration bubbling over. 

" _Ain't that bad._ " 

" _Wouldn't have happened at all if you just learned to slow the fuck down and let yourself heal._ " 

" _Shit's gotta get done._ " 

" _There's more than enough people helping. You don't have to prove anything, least of all by doing shit you're not supposed to and crippling yourself._ " 

Daryl kept grousing, so Paul tunes him out, focusing on the group he's with. The plan was for some of them to stay a couple weeks at the Kingdom before heading back to Hilltop while others would stay on a more permanent basis. Alexandria might have lost more homes than the others, but the Kingdom bore the most loss; countless human lives lost and their crops reduced to ash. The feeling inside the community was somber, but upbeat, the community abuzz with activity. Paul buried himself in work, going from one task to another until the sun set. He declined the invitation of a communal meal and took his dinner to his temporary room, setting it on the dresser before heading for the shower. He undressed quickly and stepped in, ducking his head under the warm stream and letting his shoulders drop with a soft sigh. 

A small smile flits over his lips when he feels a gentle caress and Daryl's voice saying, " _You work too hard._ " 

Paul hums, shrugging. " _Have to keep myself busy somehow._ " 

" _Workin' 'til y'drop ain't keepin' busy. That shit's obsessive._ " 

" _Keep's the mind clear._ " Paul huffs when Daryl grumbles. " _It's not like I'll be able to really sleep tonight anyway. Figured working to exhaustion is better than nothing._ " 

" _Shouldn't o' stomped off like y'did, then._ " 

" _And **you** shouldn't be pushing yourself to prove a point. Everyone knows you're useful and more than capable of doing things, but your proclivity and skills aren't why we keep you around. It's certainly not that stellar attitude of yours, either._ " 

Paul washes up while Daryl sulks. He's out, dressed, and in bed before Daryl finally quiets, performing the mental equivalent of scuffing his foot. 

" _'M sorry._ " 

" _I am, too._ " Paul pulls the blanket over himself, getting comfortable. " _Maybe one of these days, we'll finally figure out how to communicate without dissolving into fighting._ " 

Daryl snorts, grumbling, " _Don't bet on it._ " 

Paul laughs. " _Pessimist._ " He snuggles down and closes his eyes. " _I'll get through that thick skull of yours one day._ " 

" _Have fun with that._ " 

" _I'll have all the fun; buckets and buckets of it._ " 

~ 

They make progress. 

There's also setbacks, but not as bad as it was before. 

Daryl's body heals, though his ankle gives him grief from time to time. He tries to push through it, but he's usually stopped by Paul or Maggie, the latter in which basically shoving him at the scout with a pointed look. Paul frowns at her, then at Daryl, wondering how on earth he'll get the hunter to sit still long enough without it driving him crazy or going off on Paul for being a nag. It finally hits him when Maggie puts Daryl on babysitting duty and he barely puts up a fight, body language softening as he cradles little Hershel Jr. in his arms. 

Paul blinks, momentarily stunned at the sight before turning to Maggie, the question obvious. She rolls her eyes, but nods, allowing Paul to gently bully Daryl into looking after Hershel Jr. more often while she does her duty as leader of Hilltop. Daryl knows exactly what they're both up to, but it's hard to be angry at them when there's a baby in his arms, so he lets it go with minimal grousing. It helps that Hershel Jr. just seems to adore Daryl and trying to fight with a baby is just plain ridiculous, especially when the pouting and whining happens. 

It's also not a good idea to get on the bad side of Maggie, so Daryl doesn't fight it. Much. 

Unfortunately, there's enough times where Maggie doesn't need a babysitter, so Paul takes to shadowing Daryl as unobtrusively as possible. He knows Daryl hates it, has told him often enough, but he can't exactly begrudge the scout, not when he's broadcasting his concern so keenly. And then Paul somehow goes and gets himself poisoned and manages to flip things on their metaphorical head. 

Again. 

It honestly wasn't intended for him. He just happened to be the unlucky one to get between it and the intended target. It puts a lot of things in perspective, many in which Daryl didn't ever want to deal with, let alone think about, but he finds himself pondering about them while sitting at Paul's bedside. He stares at their joined hands, his thumb idly stroking over the top of Paul's hand, teeth worrying at his bottom lip. 

" _Thinkin' too much._ " 

Daryl almost falls off his chair. He glowers at Paul, who's looking at him through barely open eyes, a small smile on his lips. The scout squeezes Daryl's hand, humming softly. 

" _Wha' happened?_ " 

Daryl swallows. "Poison," he replies, waving his free hand vaguely when Paul frowns in confusion. "Weren't meant fer you, jus' got caught in th' middle." 

Paul blinks slowly. " _Who?_ " 

"Was meant fer Maggie," Daryl says, squeezing Paul's hand when there's a flash of concern. "She's a'right. Worried like hell 'bout you, though." 

Paul closes his eyes, swallowing a few times. Daryl frowns when a wave of nausea flows through the connection, Paul's thoughts fizzling and blending until it's all muddled together. There's another wave of nausea and Daryl barely has enough time to grab for a bucket before Paul's lurching upright, face ashen and twisted in pain. Daryl grimaces at the smell, wincing in pain as Paul digs his fingernails into the hunter's hand. He swallows thickly as his stomach rolls with the echoes, forcing it and his worry down while trying to project a calmness he doesn't feel. Paul heaves for several minutes before inhaling a shaky breath and coughing, spitting into the bucket with a disgusted noise. 

"Better out than in," Daryl murmurs. 

" _Fuck off._ " Paul spits again and slowly lifts his head up, smacking his lips and making a face. " _Water?_ " 

Daryl gently squeezes Paul's hand, smirking when the scout flushes and lets go, and reaches for the glass on the small table next to the bed. He passes it to Paul, hand hovering under it while Paul shakily brings it to his lips, taking a few sips to swill it around his mouth before spitting it into the bucket. He does that a few more times before finally taking a generous drink, sighing softly as he swallows it down. The scout's relief is palpable and Daryl smiles lightly, taking the glass from Paul once it's empty. He then takes the bucket and puts it on the floor to dispose of later. 

"Better?" he asks, taking Paul's hand again. 

Paul half-shrugs, licking his lips. "For now," he replies softly, then smiles and squeezes Daryl's hand. "Stop worrying so much. I'll be fine." 

"Ain't worried," Daryl scoffs. 

"Pfft." Paul taps the side of his head with his free hand. "Soulmates, remember?" He squeezes Daryl's hand again when the archer grumbles. "And even if we weren't, you're projecting pretty hard." 

"Whatever," Daryl says, shoulders hunching a little. "Should prob'bly get more sleep. Yer still recoverin'." 

Paul stares at Daryl, clearly wanting to say something, but he must sense the walls trying to come up, so he lets it go with a bob of his head. He squeezes the archer's hand one more time before letting go, easing himself back down into the bed, humming softly when Daryl pulls the covers up. He rolls onto his side, getting comfortable. 

" _Don't think this gets you off the hook. Sooner or later, we really have to sit down and talk about this._ " 

Daryl snorts. " _Sure._ " He reaches out to pet Paul's hair, smiling small when Paul sighs and lets his eyes close. " _Get some sleep and get better first, then maybe we'll talk._ " 

Paul grumbles sleepily, slitting one eye open to stare at Daryl. " _No maybe about this, Dixon. Bad things happen to Soulmates who don't Bond fully._ " He squirms uncomfortably. " _Like you getting hurt and me being poisoned._ " 

Daryl shakes his head. " _'S just the world we live in now._ " He tugs at Paul's hair when there's a wave of denial. " _It is an' y'know it. Now, hush up an' sleep._ " 

Paul settles with a grunt. " _Bossy._ " 

" _Takes one t'know one._ " 

Paul hums, but says nothing. Eventually, and with Daryl steadily combing fingers through his hair, Paul drifts off into sleep. 

~ 

They eventually do have their talk, though it happens in fits and starts. Between rebuilding, the daily chores, and their own tempers, they can't get around to it in one go. It seems like as soon as they have free time, something comes up or tempers flare up and they have to postpone until later. There's a debate around who caved first, but one day, tensions were high enough that one of them took the other and forcefully shoved them into their shared trailer, the door slamming shut with finality. No one saw either of them until late the next day, fresh faced and sporting some impressive bruising. 

Things were a lot calmer after that.


End file.
